


Unseeing Eyes

by Lif61 (UltimateFandomTrash)



Series: Banned Together Bingo 2020 [20]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Croatoan/Endverse (Supernatural), Apocalypse, Blood, Blood and Gore, Blood and Injury, Child Death, Corpses, Croatoan Virus (Supernatural), Dead People, Death, Dissociation, Execution, Field Hospital, Gore, Graphic Description, Graphic Description of Corpses, Horror, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Sexual Content, Injury, Killing, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Mercy Killing, POV Dean Winchester, Supportive Castiel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-31
Updated: 2021-01-31
Packaged: 2021-03-17 18:29:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29104845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UltimateFandomTrash/pseuds/Lif61
Summary: A colony of croats had been living out of range of Camp Chitaqua's patrols, and they attacked, taking Dean and his people by surprise. With many dead, and still more dying, Dean visits the hastily set up field hospital with Castiel to check on his people.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester, Destiel, Endverse Castiel/Endverse Dean Winchester
Series: Banned Together Bingo 2020 [20]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1916230
Kudos: 9





	Unseeing Eyes

**Author's Note:**

> Banned Together Bingo 2020 | Offends Censor
> 
> I tried to think of something that would get me banned in all the United States. Yippee-ki-yay, motherfucker!

Why was it that no one ever talked about the smell? No one ever talked about the smell—the smell of injured and dying. It stank in ways that told the human brain something was wrong, told it to turn and walk the other way.

Dean and Castiel couldn’t do that. These were Dean’s people, and this—all this—was his fault. Even from half a mile away you could smell it, and you could hear the cries and moans.

The urge to hold his arm up against his face to ward off the stench came to Dean, but he knew that he had to get used to it. If he arrived at their field hospital like that, his people would be rightfully offended. Cas seemed to have the same idea. He trudged beside Dean on the beaten path, head down. They both walked on in solemn silence.

The field hospital wasn’t much. Just a large military-grade tent set up, with cots and bedding inside. They only had one doctor in camp, and after a great number of volunteers had stepped forward without him even asking, he’d sent Risa out to find another camp, and hopefully another doctor. They needed all the help they could get after they had been attacked by a large colony of croats that had been living nearby. They had been far enough away that patrols hadn’t picked them up.

Dean hadn’t wanted to send anyone out there, but Risa was quick-thinking, a survivalist, and good with a gun. The other volunteers he’d set to work as makeshift nurses.

Dean paused at the entrance to the hospital, and Cas, always able to read him since these past years of them being together, put a hand on his shoulder. His grip was tight and reassuring.

“Cas, how am I supposed to go in there?”

Even with so few words, they both knew what he meant. How was he supposed to see what his mistakes had caused? How was he supposed to look any of those people in the eye, people he’d as good as betrayed, and tell them they would be okay?

“You won’t be alone.”

Cas’ hand traveled down his arm and grasped his hand, intertwining their fingers. Dean brought his hand up to kiss his knuckles, and then squeezed.

Without another word, they walked into the field hospital.

Blood and sweat, and almost every type of bodily fluid stank up the stuffy air inside, and Dean had to hold his breath against a gag.

Ratty army-green cots were set up in rows and then when more were needed had been crammed into every available space. Some of his people had had to be put on pallets and bed rolls, or even just a stretch of grimy sheets or blankets.

All around him he saw horrors. He saw a woman with a broken leg getting bandaged, sobbing tearlessly because, as Chuck had informed him, they’d run out of morphine, and fentanyl. He saw a man being given non-prescription drugs in order to make him comfortable as he died, tight bandages holding his guts in. He saw children, covered in dirt and bloodied, tied down wherever they lay. They were supposed to have been safe, but the croats had branched off, and gone after the shed where they were being guarded by two of Dean’s men caught unawares, as if they could smell the living flesh. Now, Dean couldn’t cast out the infected children just yet.

They couldn’t mass execute them either, not while they were still more human than croat. These kids had relied upon him, had thought he was a safe haven. 

The infected adults had all been shot point blank in the head, but the kids… Some of them hadn’t even known they were sick, crying out for parents that were dead, asking over and over again why they were tied up. That had been hours ago.

Now they twitched, and moaned as the disease took hold, some just beginning to let out inhuman screams. Dean would have to act soon, and that hurt him more than the injuries he’d sustained and Cas had treated him for.

Dead were being carried out by volunteer workers, their faces grim and stoic, eyes glazed over.

God, the smell. The _smell_! He would rather have been overwhelmed by antiseptic, but they hadn’t had actual working hospitals in years.

“Hey!” Dean shouted, getting the attention of some of the healthy. “Get these tent flaps open! Our hurt deserve more respect than this. They need air!”

A few rushed to do as he’d ordered, and Chuck was making his way as quickly and carefully as he could over to Dean and Castiel. He had that clipboard in his hands. Always the clipboard.

“Report,” Dean ordered.

“Three new dead,” Chuck responded, going through the papers on his clipboard, “and looks like four are on the way.”

Dean nodded, and an immense pain began to build in his chest. It rose and rose and then became nothing.

“Supplies.”

Chuck rattled off what stores remained, and then, barely waiting for him to finish, Cas asked, voice gruff, “And the children?”

“The doctor… She thinks it’s almost time, sir.”

Dean nodded, pretending he was receiving information as simple and painless as a group needing to be sent out for more water.

“All right, well, get them outside. Get me some volunteers—those who can fire a gun, and are, uh… okay with doing this.”

“Dean, no one’s okay with doing that,” Chuck argued.

“Yeah, I know. I know.”

In minutes, Dean and Castiel were helping get the children out. Their hands had been carefully bound with what rope they could find. They were tied to quickly-erected wooden posts.

Five children. God, _five children_.

Dean’s hand shook as he took his pistol from the holster on his thigh, and Cas took his hand in his, steadying it. Dean looked at him, their eyes meeting, and a thousand, pained words passed between them. His lover, his best friend, his _family_ , gently took the pearl grip.

“Let me do it.”

Dean shook his head. “Cas, you ca—”

“Look, it’ll hurt me less. I’m high. You aren’t.”

Dean grimaced at the reminder.

“You can aim?”

“Yes.”

With a heavy sigh, Dean let Cas take his gun. The other executioners were ready.

“All right! Line up! Safeties off.”

The children—no, the croats—were were crying, begging, knowing death was upon them. The infection had kicked in full swing, and now all they were doing was trying to preserve themselves.

“I want Mommy!” one of them begged. “Where’s my Mommy!”

“Daddy!” another cried.

Their cries only set off more broken sobs. Some of Dean’s people shifted their weight from foot to foot, guns lowering slightly.

“Hold strong,” Dean said. “We have to do this. Okay, on three. O-one—”

Dean couldn’t finish.

Cas took up the count, “—two—three!”

Five guns fired, hurting Dean’s ears. Five children slumped against posts, dead, blood trickling from single bullet holes.

Silently, Cas came over and tried to give Dean his gun back. Dean just stared at it, wondering if it would burn his hand.

His people knew what to do now, having already executed many. They took the bodies, and brought them through the woods, far enough away to hide the smell of burning flesh.

Tears stung in Dean’s eyes, and a tear was rolling down Castiel’s cheek.

“We had to,” Castiel said. He realized Dean couldn’t move, and put the gun back in his thigh holster. His touch remained, Castiel squeezing and kneading at his thigh. He then took Dean’s hand. “Come on.”

Cas led him away from all the death and hurt, bringing him to their cabin. They tried to make each other forget. But afterwards, as Dean lay naked, spooned by Castiel, all he saw were the unseeing eyes of those dead children.


End file.
